Violent extremists

Of skinheads and jihadists

Their hatred may be different, but it has similar roots

IT IS rare for an ex-neo-Nazi skinhead to sit down with a couple of former Islamist extremists and someone who was once a member of a violent street gang. It is rarer still for them to be joined by a survivor of the terrorist attacks on London in 2005. But on June 27th they all shared a stage in Dublin at a conference to discuss violent extremism with around 60 “formers” from 19 countries and a swathe of survivors.

The meeting was arranged by Google Ideas, the internet giant's new think-tank, or “think/do tank” as it likes to describe itself. Google, says Eric Schmidt, its chairman, is trying to come up with ideas to make the world a better place—such as the Summit Against Violent Extremism (SAVE) in Dublin.

Combating the rise of violent extremism has preoccupied governments for a decade. “They hate our freedoms,” said George Bush by way of explanation for the attacks of September 11th 2001. In reality the motivations that drive people into extremist groups are far more complex.

The “formers” had much in common. Both Yasmin Mulbocus, once a member of al-Muhajiroun, an Islamist outfit in Britain, and Sammy Rangel, who used to be in the Maniac Latin Disciples, a Chicago gang, spoke of abuse they suffered as children. Ms Mulbocus, whose father was Pushtun and whose mother was from Guyana, and Ben Owens, another former gang member whose ancestry is a blend of Cherokee Native American and African-American, both struggled with defining their identities. Others described absent fathers, households plagued by alcoholism, lonely teenage years and their frustrated desire to belong.

For some, most notably those who had been involved in Islamist groups, ideology played an important and complex role. Abu Muntasir, the head of an Islamic charity in Britain, argues that many jihadists are responding to real injustices in the world. Maajid Nawaz was once a senior member of Hizb ut-Tahrir, an international Islamist movement, and spent almost four years in an Egyptian prison. He went on to found the Quilliam Foundation, a counter-extremism think-tank that continues his fight—with peaceful methods.

Such transformations take time. Many at the conference likened it to the tortuous process of conquering addiction. Some, such as Susan Cruz, a former gang member, now work in the world they have left behind, trying to yank others out of it. Others are sometimes threatened by the groups they belonged to. T.J. Leyden, once a white supremacist, convinced 91 people to become skinheads when he was one. So far, he has persuaded 89 to leave the movement. He is determined to match his record—then beat it tenfold. He has been branded a traitor by his former comrades.

Predictably, Jared Cohen, who heads Google Ideas, is keen to promote the role of technology in this battle. Suggestions from those at the conference included an online encyclopedia to debunk the narratives of extremist groups; a WikiKoran to offer different interpretations of scripture and encourage debate; and a video game set in the gang world where the winning strategy would require getting characters to abandon their thuggish ways.

This is the first time Google has organised such a conference. Inviting former skinheads, jihadists and gang members to explore how to prevent others going down those paths is certainly a good idea. But to solve the problem of violent extremism, clever technology and algorithms are only a sideshow.